


do it to ignite me

by freloux



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Making Out, Multiple Sex Positions, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-05 22:24:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5392484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freloux/pseuds/freloux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Call it stress relief - it's just something they do on Wednesdays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	do it to ignite me

Clara can't remember when this started. Somehow along the way they fell into it: a grab of the hand, pulled into a quick and messy encounter. Like a hiss of static, or something he's playing on the guitar, it was just a burst of noise and movement that eventually became a pattern. The first time it happened, the clockwork squirrel he keeps on one of his amps chittered angrily. "You really should get rid of that thing," she said in between gasping breaths and sliding hands. "Better than a radio," he countered.

Call it stress relief - it's just something they do on Wednesdays. So it's not that much of a surprise when it happens again. Lying next to each other on a shrub planet (not _the_ shrub planet, a different one, but biologically quite similar, he'd explained. She wasn't really paying attention.) The trees whistle gently in the wind. Their bark has got a blue and green mosaic pattern. There's water bubbling quietly nearby. A stream. The sky above them is orangeish. Clara is tempted to ask what it's made of, but isn't sure she wants another lecture.

They're holding hands, which is the only part that Clara finds a bit startling. Unless he's figuring that their other parts fit together, so why shouldn't their hands? She decides not to question it. To just enjoy this, his presence. The way the Doctor has relaxed over time and become accustomed to her and what she wants. When they make eye contact, she shivers, as always, at the depth she finds there. She wonders what all he's seen that he hasn't told her about. What he sees when he looks at her. She could lose herself in that look, how safe it makes her feel. How confident, too, knowing the control she has over him. _Where are you taking me? Wherever you want._

Until they both get tired of looking at each other, or at the sky. The music of the trees forms a gentle, sweet background to the rustling of his coat as he shifts closer and hooks one long leg over hers. They kiss like friends, mostly. It's just like saying hello. She could kiss him for hours, she really could. Sometimes they have, just to drink each other in. Make sure the other is there. Then there's a deeper press of his lips, almost meeting teeth, like he's going to swallow her whole.

His arm winds under her neck, supporting her. The warm shock of his tongue against hers makes her gasp into his mouth. She's so close to him now that he wonders if he can feel the way her cunt is starting to pulse, matching the pace of her heartbeat as it quickens. Clara doesn't care how this will go. Sometimes it's about what she needs, sometimes it's about what he needs. What it comes back to, though, is that it's about the two of them, and it always has been. She's abandoned that whole facade of a double life, given up pretending that it was anything else.

His other hand feels under the waistband of her pants where her clit is slick but not yet swollen. It quivers at his touch. He pulls away from kissing her and she holds his gaze. It's as if their whole history is written in his eyes. She feels exposed. Moans, doesn't care how loudly. There's no one there to hear her. They usually do it in the TARDIS. There's the occasional quickie in her flat before he vworps off to wherever. But this way is her favorite: somewhere exotic, like the whole universe belongs just to them.

The Doctor draws in all her edges, and Clara becomes the truest version of herself, out of her clothes and under his hands. He slides his tongue into her cunt - it's the way he wants. It doesn't always have to do with her. Clara almost holds her breath as his tongue edges back out and up to her clit. Touching lightly. Saying hello. She can't quite explain it. He'll show her planets, they'll talk with each other like friends. And then they do things like this, which is both within and beyond the bounds of what she thought a friend could be. Someone to take care of - well, everything. Then Clara decides not to think about it because it's a bit hard to focus when he's making her squirm like this.

But sometimes they do it her way as well. That costume of his is only a barrier. It's something he can put on to show aliens as some kind of uniform. To say _I'm the Doctor, fear me._ It doesn't fool her, has never fooled her, so Clara gets him out of it. She doesn't care what images he can see dancing through her head. She edges up, pitches forward. Feels it from the inside, pulse pounding, all that hot muscle squeezing inside her. It's like a gift, the way he makes her stretch and flex. Back arched, whining, almost outside of her skin. She might be able to make him go places, but he's got power over her, too. Like too much feedback screeching to the end of a song. He rolls them both over - trade it back - and she wraps herself around him.

The orange sky has melted into rusty red by the time they're finished. Clara can still feel it lingering, wet. As ever, she's confused but happy that this happened. _Like a friend_ \- whatever that means. They're still working that one out. Now, though, she's ready to get off this shrub planet...if she can get the Doctor up from his postoital lethargy. Time Lords don't sleep, but they do need time to recover.


End file.
